


Absolution

by clearumbrella



Category: The Americans (TV 2013)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-05-18 04:07:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14845424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearumbrella/pseuds/clearumbrella
Summary: 20 years ago, his world fell apart. Since then, he’s been trying to pick up the pieces but they keep crumbling around him, turning to dust in his hands. The people he thought he knew; the people he trusted- they made a mockery of his life and doomed him to an eternity of secrets, lies, and misery. But now, it’s finally time for him to let out the silent scream that’s been building in his head since he was seventeen- he’s going to see his parents again.





	1. 1

2007

Michael Findley rolls his sister’s crucifix between his finger and thumb. It’s chipped and fading, and he can feel it weakening in his hand. It’s probably going to snap soon. In all honesty he doesn’t even know why he still has it- it’s nothing more than a piece of junk from some shopping mall. He isn’t keeping it to remember his sister by, he would like nothing more than to erase her from his memory altogether. But she wouldn’t go. She was always there, like a grain of sand in your eye- mostly you didn’t even notice, but if you blinked the wrong way the pain was almost blinding.

The FBI agents had accidentally put the chain in his personal effects instead of Pai-hers when they finally returned his things to him after almost two years of searching through them. It was longer still before he could open any of the boxes, and by the time he noticed the crucifix he had lost track of his sister completely. She seemed to be good at hiding, no doubt something she had picked up from- He didn’t want to return it to her, but he couldn’t throw it away. He tried stuffing it into the back of a cupboard but it seemed to call out to him as he lay awake at night. _I am here. Remember me._ The more he tried to ignore it the more it seemed to weigh on him, suffocating him, drowning him, until he could barely breathe at all. That’s when he started carrying it around with him. Not as a talisman, or as a reminder, or as a fragment of a memory. He carries it with him to prevent it dragging him down into the place he had already spent so many years climbing out of.

He sighs and shoves the crucifix back into his bag as he gets off the bus and begins the 20-minute walk from the bus stop to his apartment. His car is in the shop, but he’s beginning to like the solitude the walk gives him.

As he reaches his apartment, he notices a black SUV parked across the street from the entrance to his building. He stops dead in his tracks. FBI. Those black SUVs seemed to be the one constant of his life after his parents left. Whether he was in one, being tailed by one, or just watching it parked a discreet distance away, he had come to associate those cars with the pain of his past life, and seeing one here could mean nothing good.

Instinctively, he thinks about running. But where can he go? He doesn’t even have a car. And running was the coward’s way, it was their way, and he’d promised himself he would never do anything that they might do. But his mind raced. Why were they here? They couldn’t possibly suspect… they’d spent so many hours questioning him, pretending to be gentle, pretending to be sorry, but questioning him all the same. As if a 17-year-old boy could possibly… but his sister had known since she was 17…

He takes a breath and steps forward. He climbs the steps up and at his door there are 2 FBI agents. “Mr Michael Findley,” says one of them. It’s not a question. He knows that it is Michael Findley in front of him, he’s probably memorized the file. He knows everything about Michael’s life; more, possibly, than Michael does.

“Yes,” says Michael curtly.

“Special Agent Marinko, this is my partner Special Agent Schuler,” says the agent. “We need you to come with us to the FBI field office.” Michael looks at them. Fucking FBI agents. He’s so fucking sick of fucking FBI agents.

“What is this regarding?” he says coldly, not a trace of the rage that’s burning through his body. Not showing his emotions openly was a skill he’d had to learn pretty quickly.

“Sir, this is highly classified information which we cannot share with you in an unsecured facility. You need to come with us, sir. I assure you, you are not in any kind of trouble or under any kind of suspicion.”

“Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe that?” spits Michael. “‘You are not under suspicion’. That’s what they kept telling me when they locked me in a windowless room for hours at a stretch when I was fucking seventeen years old.”

“Sir,” says the second agent, glancing slightly at his partner. “This is regarding your parents.”

Michael looks at them. He’s trained himself never to think of his paren-those people. He’s tried to forget he ever knew them. He hasn’t said their names out loud in almost 15 years. They aren’t his parents anymore. They never were. They were just- To hear that word now, ‘parents’ tossed into a sentence so casually by this stranger, as though he has any right to bring them into Michael’s life again, as though as though he has any right to make Michael remember them, as though they deserve to be called that.

“Those people are not my parents. I don’t give a shit about anything you have to say about them. Please leave me alone.”

“Sir, I’m afraid that’s not possible,” says the first agent, transitioning slowly from his faux friendly persona to his FBI agent persona. “You’re going to have to come with us sir. I’m going to have to insist.”

I can’t believe I’m back here again, thinks Michael as he walks through the FBI office. He’d sworn he’d never return. His whole life, really, had been him doing everything he could never to go back to this place. All the pain, hurt, confusion, loneliness, anger, and sadness had come to him here, as he was endlessly shuffled from room to room, office to office. He hadn’t even had time to think, to feel, before they’d begun shoving lie detector tests at him. Just seeing the fucking FBI logo made him feel like a child again. The memories began to trickle back in. It hurt just as much as the day he’d found out the truth. He thought it would go away- that’s what people kept saying. Time heals all wounds, it will pass, it will get easier, it will get better, one day this will all be behind you. But it’s been 20 years and he’s still in the same place he was back then. The pain doesn’t lessen. It never has. It grows. It festers. He wants to scream.

“Mr Findley, thank you for coming in today,” says yet another FBI agent, sitting across from him at a desk in an all-too-familiar interrogation room.

“Look, agent,” says Michael. “I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to know about them. Whatever it is, I don’t care. I want to leave.” “Sir, I appreciate that,” says the agent smoothly, and Michael can barely suppress snapping back at him. _How the fuck could you ever appreciate what I’m going through._

“As part of our efforts to maintain and enhance cordial relations with the Russian Federation, we have been exchanging a number of small diplomatic requests. Sharing of historical records, returning of artefacts and possessions, that sort of thing,” continues the agent, and suddenly, a thought floods Michael’s mind. No. He doesn’t want this. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, he begs, and suddenly he realizes no words are coming out.

“One of the cases brought up was that of your family’s separation. Now even though at the time it was a major violation of internal law and the sovereignty of the United States of America, certain circumstances have shifted the situation slightly, and we have recently agreed to a request by the Russian Federation that your parents, alias Philip and Elizabeth Jennings, be able to meet with yourself and your sister, alias Caroline Landry.”

“No. I don’t want to meet them, I don’t want to-“he can’t even get the words out. His brain is jammed, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. The only thing he can think of is the chip in the garage wall where he accidentally hit it with his baseball bat when he was seven.

“Sir, we understand that this is a difficult choice for you to make,” says the agent, but Michael can barely hear him over the sound of his heart pumping. “I would like to inform you at this stage that your sister has already accepted the offer. However, we would like to give you some time to think about this. Please inform us within one week as to your decision.” The agent slides a brown envelope across the table.

Time seems to stop working. Michael cannot even remember leaving the FBI office. The next thing he knows he’s in his apartment, sitting on his bed, clutching the envelope so tightly the paper inside it tears a little bit. See his parents. His sister. After so long. After all this time- he doesn’t know, he cannot even begin to comprehend- He isn’t Michael Findley anymore, he is Henry Jennings, and a woman is explaining to him why his parents and sister had abandoned him, who they truly were, where they went, what was going to happen to him. Her voice is soft. “You’re going to be fine,” she whispers to him. A little white lie, almost a cruel joke to play on a young boy who was now alone. Henry Jennings. He couldn’t even remember who that was anymore.

His heart races as he tries to control his breathing. He’s trying to remember what to do in case of a panic attack. Was it breathing into a paper bag, or was that for something else?

Unwittingly, almost unknowingly, he reaches for his cell phone.

“Hello?” says the voice on the other line.

“Stan- it’s me, it’s Michael. I mean- Henry- I don’t- Stan please, I need to talk to you.”


	2. 2

1989

“Henry Jennings!” calls the announcer. Henry walks on the stage to collect his graduation certificate. He looks straight and walks forward, blocking out the whispers that have broken out in the auditorium of St Edwards. The Dean gives him the certificate and they turn to the camera for a picture. Henry looks out into the hall, but by now he’s become an expert at blocking out everything and everyone around him. Besides, he doesn’t need to see to know what everyone’s faces look like. Some will be curious, some pitying, some outright angry. The same expressions he’s seen on the faces of their sons and daughters for the past year and a half. Nobody will ask him outright of course. He would almost prefer that. He knows everyone is whispering about it behind his back. “That poor boy,” some of them might say. “Commie scum,” someone else would snarl, slamming their fists on the dining table. “Send him back to Russia with his scum parents.”

Suddenly he sees Stan and Renee. They are smiling and clapping, but the grief and pain have etched themselves into the hard lines of Stan’s face. Of all the people in the world, maybe Stan is the only person who really knows the reality of Henry’s life. Maybe that’s why Henry hadn’t pushed him away like he had everybody else. He’d even stayed at his house for summer break- not his old house of course, Stan had sold that the second it was feasible to. The new house was far away, but it still seemed like every time he looked out of the window for a split second he would see that familiar street with that familiar house.

Henry clutches his diploma and walks off the stage. He should have been valedictorian, he thinks. His grades were definitely better than the boy who ended up as valedictorian. But then, those boy’s parents weren’t Russian sleeper agents.

He feels a sudden urge to laugh.

2007

He nurses the cup of coffee in his hands, watching as Stan bustles around the tiny kitchen. He looks much older and paler than Michael remembers. A natural consequence of aging, Michael supposes.

“How’s Linda?” he asks. Stan’s daughter should be around 19 or 20 by now.

“She’s doing great, yeah. First year of college, you know. She’s having fun,” says Stan, sitting down at the table.

“And Matthew?”

“Oh, Matthew is- well, he’s alright. We haven’t really talked much lately.”

The conversation lulls. Michael knows what he needs to say next but somehow he can’t get the words out. Looking at Stan now, he realizes he doesn’t even know how Stan feels about everything. He had never asked. After it happened Stan moved to a desk job at the FBI. Stan claimed it was because he wanted to, especially after Renee became pregnant unexpectedly, but a part of Michael always felt that nobody in the FBI really took Stan seriously anymore- the FBI agent who lived next door to Russian spies for years without figuring out who they were. Not just living next door either, but actually befriending them. Befriending their son.

“What happened, son? You sounded real shook up on the phone.”

“It’s… it’s about my- it’s about them. My- my parents,” says Michael hesitantly, watching Stan’s face for any sign of distress or anger. But Stan’s face remains still, almost like a mask.

“Oh.” The weight of those two words –my parents- hangs between them in the air. Like rocks you tie to something to weigh it down, that awful secret has dragged both of them into the depths for twenty years. It took a long time, but Michael has managed, if not to swim back up to the surface, at least to stop drowning any further. A grim kind of victory, being stuck in some sort of hellish limbo, but a victory nonetheless. Looking at Stan now, he wonders if Stan ever stopped drowning.

Stan takes a breath before he continues. Still, no trace of emotion crosses his face. “What- what about them?”

“They want- they want to meet me. They- I got called into the FBI and they said if I wanted to meet I have to let them know in a week. That was three-two days ago,” says Michael. His heart starts to race again.

A long pause. Suddenly Michael thinks, does Stan want to meet them too?

“Are you gonna do it?” asks Stan. Michael suddenly notices that Stan’s hands have been curled into fists so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“I don’t know. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. To ask you if I should.”

“What about Paige- I mean, your sister?” “Her name is Caroline now. And she already said yes.” His sister. He had been so preoccupied with his parents he hadn’t even thought about her. That would be its own reckoning.

Stan exhales. “Hen- Michael, I don’t know.” Michael notices Stan’s face is twitching, as it sometimes does when he gets anxious or stressed. “Do you- what would you want to say to them?”

Michael clutches his coffee cup. He has begun to think about that, but he always stops before he can get to things he really wants to say. Maybe that’s because he knows that once he starts talking he won’t be able to stop until he says it all. Twenty years’ worth of pain, anger, confusion, loneliness, and sadness. One hell of a conversation opener. “I guess I would just ask them why.” Why did you lie to me? Why did you leave me? Why did you tell her and not me? Why didn't you tell me?“What would you want to tell them?”

Stan pauses, and for the first time Michael sees a hint of anguish cross his face. Michael tries to think what Stan might like to tell his parents, especially his father. But he can’t think of what that might be. What had been the last words they’d exchanged? Probably something inconsequential about baseball. Michael had always wanted to ask, but he had never been able to find the right time or the right words. And now, he’d rather leave it be. He isn’t even sure he wants to know.

“I would probably ask them why too,” says Stan, and Michael smiles.

“Son,” says Stan, “this is your decision to make.” In his eyes Michael can see that familiar fatherly expression. It was basically a permanent fixture in the aftermath. It was really the only thing that made Michael feel just a little bit okay. He couldn’t really remember much immediately after Stan walked in to his hockey practice all those years ago and told him what had happened. He seemed to shuttle between the FBI office in Washington and Stan’s house for a little while. Renee would make him soup and Stan would sit at the end of his bed, trying and failing to think of something to say. But even when he couldn’t find the words, Stan would always just sit with Henry in the silence. It lessened the weight of it, somehow. After St Edwards when Henry decided to change his name, Stan helped him find one that sounded right. After college even though they met up less and talked less, Michael had always known that Stan was always going to be a part of his life. Even though he was mostly silent, Michael appreciated that. He had realized that he preferred silence to words.

“You should know though, that you won’t get the answers you want. Nothing that they say or do is going to change the past twenty years of your life. Nothing they say or do is going to take the pain away. Are you sure this is what you really want?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I want. I just want to tell them how they made my life hell.”

“You want catharsis.”

“No. I want absolution.”

* * *

 

The next day Michael walks into the FBI office with the brown envelope clutched in his hand. He hopes the writing on the form they gave him to fill out is legible, because his hands were shaking when he wrote down his details. His hands tremble as he gives the form to the receptionist. Shortly after, he’s led into the office of the FBI agent who spoke to him a few days ago. Agent Lunsford, according to the nameplate on his desk.

“Alright Mr Jennings-“ he starts.

“I don’t use that name anymore. My name is Michael Findley.”

“I-I’m sorry about that. Mr Findley, let me give you a brief outline of what you can expect. We are still finalizing the details but roughly, you will be taken to an air base where you will meet up with your sister Mrs Caroline Landry. Then the two of you will be flown to Switzerland, a neutral country, and you will meet with your parents who will be flown in from Russia.”

“How long- how many hours-“

“We are still negotiating the exact duration, but you can expect it to be anywhere between 48 and 72 hours.”

3 days. That’s a long time, thinks Michael. It won’t be enough.

“When will all this take place?” He doesn’t know if he would rather it be sooner or later. “It will take around one to two months before the details are finalized. I’m sorry about the wait but these things do take time.”

On his drive home all Michael can think about are those words- one or two months. To somebody who had waited two decades, it should seem like nothing at all. But it feels like an eternity.

He gets home and chucks his keys on the table. His head is throbbing, and all he wants to do is lie down and sleep. There’s a light blinking on his answering machine. He presses the button to play the message, but nothing happens. He waits a while- it’s an old machine and this happens a lot. Either that or it’s a prank call. He goes to delete the message when suddenly a voice fills his empty living room. He hasn’t heard the voice in years but the memory of it rings in his mind as clear as day. Suddenly, he’s a kid again and he’s smashing a beer bottle over some guy’s head.

“Hi- Hen- Hey, it’s me. I think we should talk. Please call me,” says his sister’s voice. It sounds anxious.

He had never felt angry at Paige like he did at his parents. He doesn’t really know how he feels about Paige. He should probably feel jealously, or hurt, or anger that his parents- _their_ parents- were taking her to Russia with them or that they’d told her about their secret lives. But somehow, he feels nothing. They had never been especially close as siblings. All his anger and rage was reserved for his parents and by the time he thought of her he realized he had nothing left in him. He was too tired, too empty to hate her. He should probably have become closer to her. That was probably what our parents would have wanted, he thinks. For us to become closer, to rely on each other. We’re the only family we have. Well, not anymore, he supposes. He seems to remember the FBI agent referring to her as Mrs.

As he thinks, he realizes he doesn’t really know her at all. He had never thought about what it would be like to know such a terrible secret. But he was young then, he had never asked her why she had stepped off that train. Was it because of him? He had never had a choice, but she chose to give up everything- her family, her identity, her life as a normal American citizen. Why? Maybe if I had asked her, we wouldn’t have become strangers, he thinks, reaching into his bag for her crucifix. What was that pastor’s name? Thomas? His parents had hated that guy.

He picks up the phone and dials her number.


	3. 3

“Mind if I smoke?” says Amelia, lighting a cigarette.

“Clearly it doesn’t really matter if I say no,” says Michael, reaching for his bedside table clock to check the time. “Christ it’s already eight.” He lies back in bed and watches Amelia smoke, her back turned to him.

They'd met in college and almost dated –there was definitely some connection- but somehow they never really got around to it. Since college they’d remained friends, but neither one of them could really get it together for long enough to start a serious relationship. She would usually hit him up for dinner and a fuck in between boyfriends, and he was usually happy to oblige. It’s just easier this way.

“Big day ahead?” she says as she out her cigarette in last night’s empty whiskey glass. She crawls back into bed next to him.

“Yeah I’m- well, I’m meeting my sister,” he says, sitting up. Amelia was one of the few people he’d told about his life. Not everything, just the basics. She’d been one of the few who looked at him the same way before and after.

“Wow, that’s a pretty big deal. What happened, she dying or something?” she says.

“No, we’re going to meet our parents soon so she called and asked if I wanted to see her before that happened, and I said okay.”

“Wait,” says Amelia, sitting up. “Your parents? This the Russian spies we’re talking about? The ones who dumped you here and fucked off to Russia? Michael, that’s insane!”

Michael laughs. It feels strange to hear someone distil his entire life down to two or three sentences, but in essence she was right. His parents were Russian spies who abandoned him in America and ran off to Russia. Sounds simple enough.

“Well, yeah. They want to meet me.” “Wow. That is crazy. Is one of _them_ dying?” demands Amelia.

“No idea,” says Michael, wondering how he would feel if that turned out to be true.

“You know, it’s okay if you don’t want to meet them. You don’t owe them anything.” Michael looks at her. Maybe in another life, they would be married with children of their own. Or maybe they wouldn’t have met at all.

“I know. But I actually kind of want to. Just get some closure, I guess.”

“But what are you even going to say to them?” asks Amelia, her tone reflecting the concern he can see in her eyes.

“I don’t know, really. Any suggestions?”

“You know, it’s probably been hard for them too. I mean, look, what they did was totally awful and unforgivable. But they have to live with the fact that they made that choice for themselves, and whatever their lives are like now, it’s all on them. It can’t be easy living with the fact that you willingly abandoned your own child with the possibility that you would never see them again. You didn't have any choice. But they did that to themselves.”

“Yeah, but what if… What if their lives are great now? What if they’ve had more children and they’re rich and successful and they- they’ve forgotten all about me?” says Michael, voicing a fear he’s had for a long time but hasn’t told anyone, not even Stan. He feels like a small child. How pathetic that even after everything they had put him through, there was still a part of him that wanted to feel loved by them. “I know, it’s pathetic isn’t it.” He laughs hollowly.

“It’s not pathetic. You are not pathetic. They’re your parents, Michael. Of course you want to feel like they love you.” Somehow she always knows the right things to say.

Michael smiles at her. “Thank you. It’s nice to get some of this off my chest once in a while.”

“Oh, Michael,” she sighs. “Don’t give too much of yourself to them. They don’t deserve it.”

* * *

 

It’s 3.30pm. Paige’s flight has been delayed, so he’s just sitting on one of the benches in the arrival hall, watching all the people go by. He’s always liked the anonymity of airports. Everyone is too busy going somewhere to notice you.

An hour later, he sees that her flight has landed. He still doesn’t know why he agreed to having her stay with him. He wasn’t really thinking straight on the phone. Although it probably wouldn’t be the worst thing, it would be just like having a stranger stay over. He realizes he’s not even really sure what she looks like now. How would he find her in this sea of people?

He sees a woman come out into the arrival hall. She’s slim and of average height. Her brown hair is peppered with grey. Her eyes dart around the hall, slipping from person to person until they suddenly fix on him. He hasn’t seen her in years but he knows: that’s her. Something like a smile creeps onto her face as she slowly begins to walk towards him. Suddenly he starts to panic. Should he hug her? Would that be too weird? But a handshake would be too formal, right? How about a firm pat on the back- no, he’s not her father. Before he can make up his mind she’s standing right in front of him.

“Hi,” she says, biting her lip.

“Hi,” he replies. This definitely isn’t like the long lost family reunions he’s seen in the movies.

“How are you, Henry?” she asks, smiling wistfully at him. He’s about to say that he isn’t called that anymore, but something in her face makes him decide that that can wait for later.

“I’m good. Shall we go?”

* * *

A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you for all the lovely comments you've left. I decided to write this because as good as the finale was, Henry was one of the characters I felt deserved a more complete ending (Oleg is the other, but that's a matter for another fic... or is it?). I'm glad that so many people feel the same way! Any comments, feedback, suggestions, or advice are always welcome, and thank you so much for reading!

 


	4. 4

“This is a really nice apartment,” says Paige. It obviously isn’t, but it’s clear she just wants to break the heavy silence.

 “It’s okay, you don’t have to be polite. It’s pretty crappy,” says Michael. “Do you want some coffee?”

 “Oh, yes please, thank you,” she sits down at the tiny dining table. From the kitchen he can see her sitting perfectly still, but her eyes are flitting around the room nervously.

 “Here,” he sets the coffee down in front of her and takes the seat opposite. She smiles her thanks and takes a small sip.

 “So… how have you been?” he asks. “You changed your name again?”

 “Yeah, somebody found out about me and it was all too much so I moved somewhere else. But that was about five years ago. Did the FBI tell you that?”

 “Yeah. And they also said you were a Mrs, so congratulations I guess?” He’s curious as to what kind of man would make Paige settle down. Other than Stan’s son Matthew he can’t really remember her showing any kind of sustained interest in guys.

 “Thank you. I- I wanted to invite you to the wedding but I didn’t know if you would wanna come, especially after what you said the last time, so I didn’t want to put you in an awkward position,” she says anxiously.

 “Right,” he says, thinking about the last time he had seen his sister face-to-face. He was younger and angrier, and he had said some cruel things to her. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel angry at her now. He’d gotten it all out of his system. “What’s his name, what does he do?”

 “His name is Eric, he’s an accountant. He has his own firm.” She takes out a small photo album from her bag and turns to a photo of a rather nondescript blonde man standing in front of a church. His sister is standing next to him in a wedding dress, smiling happily. “That’s him on our wedding day.”

 “You got married in a church?”

 Paige giggles. “Yeah I know, I never thought that I would end up back there. But it’s what Eric wanted, so.”

 “Is he kind to you? Is he a good man?” asks Michael. Despite everything, he really does want her to be happy. At least one of them should be.

 “He is, he’s a very good man.”

 “Does he know?”

 “Some of it, not all. I told him my real name and that whatever he saw on the news about us was mostly true, but not about how-“

 “You were one of them.” The atmosphere changes. Before, it had been slowly softening, warming up, but at Michael’s words it becomes icy cold.

 Paige looks at him, the hurt showing plainly on her face. “Henry, I-“

 “That’s not my name anymore. My name is Michael.”

 Paige takes a deep breath. She looks like she’s about to cry.

 “Michael, I’m sorry. I was young, I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I will keep apologizing to you for the rest of my life if I have to. I just- I just wanted mom to be proud of me.”

 Michael sighs. “Yeah, I know that feeling.” They had both wanted their parents’ love and affection. Paige did everything she could to get those things, but he had just given up on them all together.

 “Look I- I don’t expect you to forgive me. I haven’t forgiven myself yet,” she says, the colour rushing to her cheeks. This is clearly what she’d come here to say. “I was just young and naive. I was just thinking about myself. I felt special. You know what I was like back then, I was always worried about how I could change the world or something, and that seemed like the best chance to do that. Mom kept telling me all these things about how Russia was being oppressed and I just believed her. I wanted to believe her, because if she was telling the truth it meant that I could change the world, and that she and I would be doing something _good._

 “I never thought about you and how what we were doing was so cruel to you- we were isolating you. We kept saying that it was for your own good and that your life was here and you would do well here, even without us but- that wasn’t for you, it was for us. It was so that we could tell ourselves that what we were doing was okay. It wasn’t. We were wrong. Whatever we chose to do, it shouldn’t have been what we ended up doing.”

 She’s slightly out of breath and there are tears in her eyes. He sees in her a different kind of pain than his own. The pain of being lied to; being told that things were one way when actually they were a million different ways. Thinking that her life was going to be in service of the great good, but realizing that that was a hollow ideal, a false justification from false idols. Being forced to tear her family apart even though she struggled desperately to hold the pieces together as she tore apart in the process.

 “It’s okay. I’m not mad about that anymore,” he smiles at her and takes her hand. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I know said some things, but I was raw and angry. But you came back. You didn’t go with them. And I don’t know why, I don’t know if you did it for me, but you came back. And because of that I still have a family.”

 She hold his hand tightly and they sit like that for a while. He feels strange. One of his old FBI-mandated psychiatrists had talked a lot about catharsis. Maybe this is what that feels like.

 “Oh!” gasps Paige, reaching for her photo album again. “I almost forgot, this is my daughter Allison.” A small girl with brown curls grins up at him from the photograph. “She’s three years old, and she’s just the most wonderful girl ever.”

 “She’s really adorable,” smiles Michael. “I didn’t know you wanted to have children.”  
  
 “I didn’t, it was totally unplanned. I was 38 when I got pregnant, it was totally unexpected. But I don’t know what I would do without her now.” She smiles shyly. “You know, if you wanted to   meet her, I would really like that.”

 “I would like that.” Suddenly he remembers something. “By the way, I think this is yours,” he says, handing her the crucifix.

 “Oh, wow,” she says, looking at it with a sad smile. “You had this this whole time?”

 “They mixed it up with my stuff, I think. I couldn’t throw it away for some reason.”

 “Keep it,” she says, handing it back to him. “I like to think there’s a part of me that’s always been with you.”


	5. 5

Paige is unpacking her things in the guest bedroom- well, technically it’s a storage room he stuffed a foldable bed into half an hour before leaving to pick her up. She’s only staying for two days but she seems to have a lot of stuff. He sits on the edge of his bed, trying to figure out how he feels. Yes, he feels glad that he and Paige have reached a sort of understanding, but the shadow of his past still looms over him. He wonders if he will ever be free of it.

“So this is your room?” says Paige suddenly from the doorway, making him jump. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

 “Oh, it’s okay. Yeah this is my room. It’s not much,” he says, looking around, suddenly seeing how bare the walls are. There are no posters or photographs, nothing that would tell a stranger looking in even a little about the person who lives here. The only personal items were a couple of stray socks lying around, his jacket, a few books and a tube of eyeliner which he’d just noticed that must belong to Amelia. Embarrassingly, Paige seems to have noticed too.

 “This isn’t yours I’m guessing,” she says, picking it up and smirking.

 He can feel his face becoming warm. Is he blushing?

 “Uh, no it’s-it’s not, um, a fr-friend of mine must have left it here, um. Yeah,” he stammers, feeling like a thirteen year old.

 “Is your friend- is she your girlfriend?” asks Paige. She isn’t smirking anymore.

 “Um, not really. I don’t really do… that.”

 “Oh. But you do have someone- people in your life you can count on, right? Friends?”

 “Not really, I mean… to be honest I prefer to be on my own,” he says. He’s had friends, of course, but nobody he’d stayed in touch with for longer than a year. It didn’t take a psychotherapist to diagnose abandonment issues (although many had done so), but he just hasn’t found anyone worth making the effort for.

 “What about her?” Paige asks, looking at the eyeliner.

 “It’s complicated.” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore.

 “I’m sorry, Henry- I mean, Michael,” she sits down gently on the other end of his bed.

 “I told you it’s not your fault.”

 “You mentioned earlier, you didn’t know why I got off that train. I’ve been thinking about it for twenty years, and I don’t know either. Ever since I started… with them, I knew it might happen and I was always preparing myself for the possibility. And when it finally happened, I was all for it… but then Dad said we weren’t going to take you-“

 There was ice in his chest. “It was Dad’s idea?”

 “No, I think they both decided it, but he was the one who said that we were gonna do it. And suddenly, it just- I realized what the real costs of that kind of life would be. And I was just sitting in the train, staring at the door and I just stood up and got out. I don’t know why, I wasn’t even thinking about it, I just did it. I knew that if I didn’t, I would regret it- that I might be the one making the same kind of choice Mom and Dad made. And I knew I couldn’t do it.”

 “And- and that phone call? What was that, just to throw the FBI off the scent or something?” He had often thought about that call- the last time he’d ever spoken to his parents. He keeps thinking: would I have said anything different if I knew it was the last time? And he can’t come up with an answer.

 Paige’s eyes fill with tears. “No, of course not. We-They just wanted to hear your voice. I can’t even imagine what they must have felt.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

 “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The thought of you, all alone in your school, with no idea that you were about to be alone- it just broke my heart. I couldn’t bear it Henry, I just couldn’t bear it,” she says. The tears are streaming down her face now. He wonders if this is the first time she’s saying these things out loud.

“Didn’t seem to move Mom or Dad much,” he says bitterly.

 “I don’t know, Henry. It broke their hearts too. It did, it really did. They were agonizing over it the whole journey. But they’re different than us. They’re different than normal people. When they were training to be spies- this is the stuff they learned. How to keep going in spite of yourself. How to suffer the worst pain, the worst loss, and still keep going. They put survival over everything- _everything._ ”

 “Have you ever tried to- to contact them?” he’s always wondered about this, whether it was even possible.

 She laughs shakily. “No. I mean, the FBI is suspicious enough of me as it is, I don’t want to give them more reason to doubt me. And- I don’t even know what I would have said to Mom and Dad. I broke their hearts when I got off that train, and the one question they’d have for me is the one I can’t answer. I just- I just wanted to move on with my life. I didn’t want to think about all that stuff, it was just too difficult to think of. I know, it’s the coward’s way, but that’s the way I chose.”

 “I don’t think it’s cowardly. There is no right way here. It’s all wrong.” He thinks about what Stan said; that he might never get the answers he wants. He’s beginning to understand what that really means.

\-----

A little while later, they’re walking to the park. Paige had asked him to show her around, and he’d picked the one place in the city he felt was worth going. Their dinner had been spent in silence- not a bad silence, but the silence of two people who knew that words weren’t needed at that moment.

 They reached the park just as the sun was setting. The golden light of dusk weaved through the leaves of the trees; tangled itself in the children’s hair; caressed his face gently with summer warmth. Everywhere people were sitting and reading, or playing music, or simply watching the sky change colours. The park at sunset always made his heart feel at ease, like someone was holding his hand and rocking him gently to sleep.

 “It’s beautiful,” says Paige softly.

 “Yeah. I come here sometimes, when I need to.”

 They find a spot under a tree and sit quietly. The world passes them by, but they hardly notice.


	6. 6

Mischa paces nervously around the kitchen as his wife speaks in hushed tones on the phone.

 

“Yes, I understand,” she says. “Yes, thank you. Thank you.”

 

She puts the phone down and looks at him, her expression inscrutable. For a moment the silence hangs between them.

 

“They’re coming,” Nadezhda says, her voice betraying no emotion.

 

Mischa swallows. “They- both of them? Even- even Henry?”

 

“Yes,” she breathes, and suddenly her face crumples into tears. He rushes over to hold her, but he knows there is no comfort he can give, no solace he can provide, no reassurance he can offer. Nothing either of them says or does can ease the terrible burden they have been carrying for so long. In some distant past he had thought that things would get easier with time, but every day he wakes up and feels a little more suffocated by the weight of his life gone by.

 

There had been no hero’s welcome for them when they returned; no parade, no honours. They were assigned high ranking desk jobs in the KGB without much fanfare. Everybody knew who they were: two agents from a fabled unit that nobody had quite believed existed. There were whispers, of course. They had been warned that there would be. At first the whispers had been curious. Then, as word slowly got out about what they had done, the whispers became ones of shock and horror.

 

It was funny, really. As spies they had spent so much time learning to listen, but the first thing they had to do to survive in their new lives was learn how to ignore.

 

Not a day went by when he didn’t think of his children. Every day he wondered- what would they be doing now? Do they still think about me? Are they happy, safe, content? He and Nadezhda spoke about them more and more as the years went by, not because it became easier to talk, but because the silence was killing them slowly. They started with small things: I wonder what they’re doing today. I wonder what they’re thinking right now. Then they moved on to slightly bigger questions: I wonder what they did with our house. I wonder if they sold the travel agency.

 

I wonder if Paige finished college. I wonder if she has a boyfriend. I wonder if Henry still plays hockey. I wonder if he’s still in New England.

 

I wonder if they still think about us. I wonder if they ever forgave us.

 

“They’re going to meet us in a neutral location,” says Nadezhda, wiping away her tears. “I don’t know where that might be, but- they’re coming Mischa. They’re coming to see us.”

 

“Even Henry?” says Mischa. He can’t quite believe that Henry would come.

 

“Yes,” says Nadezhda. “I can’t believe it. I thought- I thought he would never want to see us again.”

 

“He probably- he’s probably just coming to tell us how much he hates us for leaving him behind.”

 

Nadezhda laughs shakily. “I don’t care- I just want to look at him again.”

 

“What do you think they look like now?” In truth he can barely remember his children’s faces. They hadn’t taken any personal items when they left- no photos, nothing. He had told himself he would remember- he would _force_ himself to remember- but over time their faces and voices faded from his mind. They had become shadows that walked in his dreams.

 

“I don’t know. I can’t even imagine,” says Nadezhda, sitting down on the sofa and looking around vacantly at their house. It was a big one, courtesy of the government. But it was empty. If they left tomorrow nobody would ever be able to tell that someone had lived here. The house was bare and sparse. All the things that fill a house up, that make a home- they had left all those things behind. All that remained to them was this hollow existence that they had led for the past twenty years.

 

It was like a kind of purgatory. He had often asked himself- why us? Why me? But the answer had always been clear. This was punishment for their sins, for all the wrongs they had wrought upon others.  And in committing the biggest sin of all they had doomed themselves to this half life where they lived like ghosts, watching other people's lives go by while never being fully alive themselves. He had thought that they would spent the rest of their lives like this- but suddenly, there was a chance to see his children again. To tell them that he was sorry, and that he loved them, and that not a day, not a  _second_ went by when he didn't think about what he had done to them. He could never redeem himself. He could never forgive himself. But his children could absolve him. 

* * *

A/N: I know it's been super long since my last update, but life unfortunately has a habit of getting in the way. I will try my best to update more frequently from now on. As always, comments and criticism are welcome. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!


	7. 7

_10 days_

“Wow Michael, do you realize you only have three colours in your whole wardrobe- black, brown, and grey?” says Amelia, looking disdainfully at the pile of clothes on the floor.

 

“I don’t go in for colour that much,” he says, sorting through the pile trying to decide which clothes to take with him. What was someone even supposed to wear to something like this? A suit would be too formal- but a t shirt would be too informal, and his parents had always liked him and Paige to dress nicely. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much in the way of the smart casual variety.

 

"You don’t say,” she snorts. “Oh look, here’s a grey shirt that’s in a slightly lighter shade of grey than all these other grey shirts.”

 

“Look, are you here to make fun of me or to help me pack?”

 

“Right, sorry,” she sits down next to him and starts picking out a few shirts.

 

“Does your wardrobe really matter?” she rolls up a pair of trousers and chucks them into his bag.

 

“I don’t- I guess not, but I just- I need to prepare for this somehow. I’m going on a trip, basically. And people pack for trips. So that’s what I’m doing.”

 

“As opposed to curling up on a ball on the floor muttering to yourself?” Amelia always was very prescient- sometimes a little too much so.

 

“I know it’s stupid-“

 

“I didn’t say it was stupid.”

 

They sit in silence for a while as Amelia attempts to find socks that match. Michael thinks about how he’s not thinking about what’s waiting for him 10 days down the line. Surely it would be better to start building up some kind of emotional foundation now so that it wouldn’t hit him all at once later?

 

“I think we’re done,” says Amelia, looking at the rather messy contents of his bag.

 

“Thank you for helping me,” he smiles at her.

 

“You’re welcome. You know, this isn’t really like us. There’s no sex or booze involved.”

 

“Yeah. It’s kind of nice though. Maybe we should do this more often.”

 

“What, pack for your trip to visit your Russian sleeper agent parents for the first time in twenty years?” she bites her lip anxiously. “I- Sorry. I don’t mean to be flippant, it’s just- I don’t really know how else to handle this whole… thing.”

 

“It’s fine, I don’t really know either.”

 

She touches his cheek gently. “You’ll be okay, right? You’re not going to run away and become a hermit in Siberia after you meet them right?”

 

“I don’t Siberia is the best place to become a hermit. The cold, you know,” he smiles wryly. “You almost sound like you’re going to miss me.”

 

“I won’t. But I worry about you. You’re kind of important to me.”

 

“I’m honoured,” he says, and with a little start he realizes how serious her eyes are. “You’re kind of important to me too.”

 

Words unsaid hang in the air between them, just like always. Maybe if he gets back in once piece he’ll finally have the courage to speak them.

 

 

_3 days_

 “All packed?” asks Stan.

 

“Yeah, yes. Although, I didn’t really know what to pack,” Michael laughs softly. He’s back in Stan’s apartment. Of course he had to visit Stan before he left, it wouldn’t be right otherwise.

 

“Did you bring them anything? Any presents or…?” says Stan, a little hesitantly.

 

“Presents? I- Wow, I hadn’t even thought about that,” says Michael, his heart starting to beat a little faster. Was he supposed to give them presents? Would Paige have gotten them anything?

 

“I mean, not that you owe them any presents, or anything else,” says Stan hastily.

 

“What would I even get for them? I don’t even know them.”

 

“Not like Christmas presents, I was thinking more of photographs of your life, of the past twenty years. They might like to see something like that.”

 

“There hasn’t really been much worth photographing,” sighs Michael. What would they think when they found out that he was still as alone as he was the day they left him? Would they feel guilty? Upset?

 

“That’s not true,” says Stan, walking over to his stash of photo albums under the coffee table. He flips through a couple of them. “Look, here’s your college graduation. And here’s your kayaking team. Look, here’s you with your hockey trophies.” Michael looks at the photos Stan’s handed over.

 

“Stan, these are all really old photos.” Has there really not been anything in his recent past worth capturing?

 

“Not to them.”

 

“I don’t know how much of my life I even want to share with them. I don’t even know what I’m going to say to them.”

 

“You’ll know when you see them,” says Stan reassuringly.

 

“Is there…” starts Michael. He’s been thinking about this for a while and he doesn’t know how Stan is going to react.

 

“Is there anything _you_ want to say to them? Any message you want me to pass on, or a letter or something?” He waits nervously.

 

Stan becomes a little pale and he takes a couple of deep breaths as he looks unsteadily into Henry’s eyes.

 

“I don’t- I don’t have anything to say to them.”

 

“Of course, I just wanted to ask in case you had something that you wanted me to tell them. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

“No, I’m not upset,” says Stan, smiling a little unconvincingly. “This is your time with them, and I don’t want you to waste precious talking about me. This is your turn. Focus on you, focus on what you want to say.”

 

“It’s not a waste of time,” says Michael. “I know I don’t say this much, but if it hadn’t been for you helping me and taking care of me and making sure I didn’t go completely insane I… I wouldn’t have known what to do. I would never have been able to find my way… if you weren’t there. So I just want you to know that whatever you need, whatever you want- it’s never going to be a waste of time.”

 

Stan’s expression is unreadable. For a while he doesn’t say anything, but then he slowly reaches across the table and holds Michael’s hand.

 

“Without you kid, I don’t know what I would have done either.”

 

 

_1 day_

“Are you nervous?” comes Paige’s voice over the telephone.

 

“I don’t know,” he replies. She’d left a message a few days ago asking him to call if wanted to. He wasn’t going to initially, but suddenly the reality that he was going to see his parents had hit and he had to talk to someone before he unravelled. “I think I’ve transcended nervousness.”

 

There’s silence on the other end of the line. “I’m just trying my best not to think about it. If I do, I’ll probably be to terrified to get on that plane,” she laughs shakily.

 

“What did you pack?” he asks. He knows it’s a stupid question, but he can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s going to get scolded for packing the wrong things.

 

“Just some clothes. Photos of Allison and Eric. I didn’t know what else to take, really.”

 

He’d almost forgotten about her husband and child. Suddenly the old yet familiar feeling of inferiority crept up within him. Paige was bringing them photos of her cute baby and handsome husband, while he only had some pathetic pictures of him at a college he didn’t really care about with people he didn’t really know. They were going to like her more. As usual.

 

“Right,” he says, trying not to let the bitterness he’s feeling leech into his voice. He knows he’s being stupid and unfair but he can’t help it. Do we ever stop feeling like children in front of our parents?

 

“We’ll be fine, Michael,” says Paige, almost to herself. “Listen, even if this doesn’t go the way we want- I don’t even care. Because I got to meet you again. I got to tell you about my baby and my husband and my life. I got to share all that with you. And that’s all I’ve really ever wanted. Everything that happens with Mom and Dad is just a bonus.” She pauses. “I missed you, Henry.”

 

Michael realized he hadn’t even thought about the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore. The absence of his parents had defined his adult life so much so that he had barely even thought about the fact that he did have family left. He had a sister, and a brother-in-law, and a niece. He wasn’t alone anymore. And suddenly, for the first time, he could see beyond the meeting with his parents. Up until now it seemed like his life would come to a screeching halt the moment he saw them. But now he knew there was a life for him beyond that.

 

“I missed you too, Paige. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

_0 days_

He doesn’t sleep much on the plane. Neither does Paige. They’d met on the tarmac in front of the private jet that would bring them to the place where they would meet their parents. It seemed like so long ago that the FBI had come to his apartment.

He and Paige had exchanged a few perfunctory words before boarding but couldn’t say much more than that. He knew that she must be feeling what he felt- a feeling too deep and too raw to put into words. They were saving their words for later.

Over the years Henry had gotten really good at separating himself from his emotions. Every time it got to be too much he would just go into a sort of zen state until he felt normal again. But on the car ride to the hotel, it doesn’t work. His heart is racing, his breath is coming in shallow spurts as if he’d just run a marathon. A few times he looks over at Paige and sees she’s white. Once they reach the lobby the FBI agents who’d accompanied them begin to brief them about protocol, but he doesn’t hear a word. There is a kind of roaring in his ears, a roaring which gets louder and louder and louder and louder until he thinks he’s going to explode.

“Arrived few hours ago… waiting in room…” he catches a few snippets of the agent’s words as they are herded into an elevator, but he can’t process what the agent is saying.

Suddenly he realizes he can’t do this. This was a mistake, he can’t do this, he wants to go back, he wants to go home, why isn’t anyone listening to him, why isn’t anyone turning around- his mouth is open but he hasn’t said a word. But before he can they’re standing in front of a door. Someone knocks on it and it swings open.

They step inside.


	8. 8

He didn’t know what he had thought was going to happen. When he was young he used to think about this moment a lot- what his parents would say, what he would say. Or at least he would try to. He never really got beyond picturing their faces. He would just picture the two of them standing in silence. He could never really think of any words because what words were there, really? Once their faces began to fade he stopped thinking about it. It was a fairy tale that a desperate, lonely young boy had clung on to for as long as he could and far longer than he should have.

Turned out, his vision of this moment was unnervingly close to reality. His parents stand at the far side of the room, staring at him and Paige. His mother is pale and his father is shaking. For a long moment it seemed as though none of them would ever move again. But Paige takes a step forward and the spell breaks; suddenly he is being hugged by his father and kissed by his mother and Paige is crying. He can’t believe he’s here, his parents are here, they’re all in the same room again- he feels himself sinking into his mother’s embrace. He suddenly notices her hair is more grey than brown. There’s a strange sensation in his chest, as though he’s soaring.

“Henry, oh Henry, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so, so sorry,” she whispers into his ear.

 _Henry._ He had pretended to forget that that was ever his name, or that he ever was a kid named Henry Jennings who grew up in a suburb somewhere with his parents and his sister. There was better for there never to have been a Henry Jennings, because Henry Jennings was grief and sorrow and desolation and it was better, really, for Michael to put Henry Jennings out of his misery. And for so long, he had almost succeeded. But one word from one voice and all of the things he had spent so long pretending had happened to someone else snapped back into reality. There was no more boundary wall between Henry Jennings and Michael Findley. That was all gone now, and all that was left was the reality of his life that he was in no way prepared or able to deal with.

He pulls out of her hug. Her touch suddenly feels ice cold to him. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Paige and his father standing a little apart, looking at each other’s’ feet. He looks at his mother fully for the first time in 20 years and sees the lines of age painted all over her face and hands. Suddenly he realizes that this is the first time in his life that there have been no lies between him and his parents.

“Henry,” his mother starts to speak but suddenly he can’t stand to hear the sound of her voice anymore.

“That’s not my name anymore,” he snaps, and sees her eyes fill with tears again.

“I- I’m sorry,” she says helplessly. “I don’t- I don’t know what to say to y-“

“There’s no need to say anything,” he says coldly. “There’s no need to say anything.”

“I know you must want an explanation,” she says, wringing her hands. “And I know, that there is no explanation for what we did- what _I_ did. And I have regretted it every single minute, every single _second_ since then. And I know you must so angry at us. Please just let me look at you for a while more, please-“ she breaks into tears. He looks over at his father, expecting him to comfort her, but he doesn’t.

“Why did you leave me behind?”

His mother looks at him, stricken.

“What, you didn’t think I would ask? Don’t you think I deserve an answer to at least that?”

Taking deep breaths, she slowly sits down on the couch.

“Because you were pure. You were pure, and innocent, and untouched by all the horrible things that we did and all the terrible decisions that we made. We couldn’t bring ourselves to drag you into to that chaos. You were so happy in your school with your life, and with your friends and I just- I couldn’t bear it Henry, I just couldn’t-“

“I already told you that’s not my NAME!” he shouts and he feels the dam breaks inside. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME AFTER YOU ABANDONED ME? DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO ME? TO MY LIFE? I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO TRUST EVEN ONE PERSON- _ONE. PERSON.-_ BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DID. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO EVEN FEEL LIKE I COULD BEGIN TO FUNCTION?” He sees her start to cry again but he doesn’t care- he needs to tell her these things, he needs her to _know_ how much he still hurts. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO BE TOLD THAT YOUR WHOLE LIFE IS A LIE BY THE FBI AGENT WHO’S ASKING YOU IF YOU’RE A RUSSIAN SPY LIKE YOUR WHOLE FAMILY? HOW CAN YOU EVEN SAY-“

“Henry.” It’s the first time his father has spoken. “It was my idea to leave you.”

He can barely remember what he did next. He thinks he just walked out and went to the neighbouring hotel room which had been booked for them. For so long, he had thought that his mother was the one who had left him. He didn’t know why, but he had always assumed that his father would have wanted to take him. Deep down inside he had thought he was his father’s favourite, but it turned out that was another child’s fairy tale. How could the same two people destroy your world twice over?

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying alone in his room before someone knocks on the door.

“It’s me,” says his father. “Please, let me in.”

He automatically gets up to open the door. He doesn’t particularly want to see his father, but it’s as though his body is being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t have the energy to do anything that’s not the path of least resistance.

His father walks in and without preamble, begins to speak.

“I know you must hate me. You deserve to. It’s your right. Yell at me, shout at me, scream at me, I don’t care. But hear me out. If you pack your bags the second I’m done and go back home I won’t say anything. I’ve lost that right. But please hear me out.” He takes the silence as assent and carries on.

“I loved living in America. I always loved it more than your mother did. I loved the life that we had there- the mere fact that such a life existed at all was a miracle to me. I did my job, of course. I was always loyal to my countr- I was always loyal to here. But when you and Paige were born I fooled myself into believing that the life that we had over there was really mine. Only it wasn’t. It was the life of some guy named Philip Jennings who never really existed. I wanted so badly for him to exist. I wanted so badly for Philip Jennings to be real. But I knew it was lie, and I could never get away from that. The only person to whom it was real was you. Paige was there too but once we told her about us, she knew Philip Jennings was a lie. You were all that I had left. You were all that remained of my stupid dreams. You made Philip real. Sometimes I think that all the time I was over there, the only time I was really living was when I was Philip. For you, even for a little bit, I could pretend that that I was him, and the life that I wanted so, so much was mine for a while.

“It was unbelievably selfish of me. I know it was. And I might have tried to convince myself that it was kinder to let you believe the lie, but I knew that wasn’t true. Your mother was right. You were pure and innocent. You were the only part of our lives that we could look at and say, without reservation, ‘this is a good thing that we did’. And when the time came for us to go, I couldn’t taint that. I always knew we would have to leave someday but I had hoped it would be far, far in the future. Honestly I think I just tried to think as little about it as I had to. But when I thought about bringing you back to Russia, to a country and a life and a language and a people that you had never known and would never fully know- I couldn’t. I told myself you deserved better. I knew we would fuck you up. But I always believed- and I _still_ believe that you were strong enough to get past that one day. The American Dream, the American life- I wanted you to have all that. The real Philip Jennings would have been able to give you that. And I hated myself that I couldn’t, that I wasn’t him. But what I did- it was the best I could do. I know that that must sound so unbelievable to you. I know. And I don’t expect or want you to forgive me. I just want you to know why I did it.

“There was no good choice. I knew no matter what we did, we would be destroying you in some way. All I did, my whole adult life, was make terrible choices based on the terrible circumstances we found ourselves in. It never got easier. And when I had to make the worst choice that I have ever had to make I thought about the one thing all parents want- the best for their children. I did my best. Because there was nothing else I could do for you. I wish there was, you don’t know how badly I wish there was. But there wasn’t.”

The room is silent. He can feel his heart beating fast. He doesn’t know why, but he steps forward and hugs his father. And in his father’s arms, Henry Jennings begins to cry.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely comments. I'm so sorry for the wait, I really don't have an excuse. I hope this chapter makes up for it in some small way. I've been waiting to write it for so long.

PS. Congratulations to Joel Fields and Joe Weisberg for their Outstanding Writing Drama Series Emmy, to Matthew Rhys for his Outstanding Lead Actor Emmy, and to Keri Russell for her Outstanding Lead Actress Emmy (I know she didn't win but I'm going to pretend like she did because I don't want to live in a world where she didn't win even one Emmy throughout the whole show. Elizabeth Jennings would not have stood for this outrage.)


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